sharks.
In less time than it takes to tell, we were bearing down on the conflict. The Spaniard was between the burning sloop and her final enemy, off her starboard bow and maneuvering desperately to avoid the big shipâs deadly broadside fire. We were coming up on the Spaniardâs larboard stern, and so far she gave no sign of having spotted us.
âAim for her masts and sheets, lads,â Hunter shouted. âWe donât have time to hammer her hull, and if we did, it would make no odds. I think she might just slap our faces for us. Cut her masts down! Once weâre past her, we donât want her catching us! Hit her fast, hit her hard, and then run like the devil!â
We bore down on them, and the stern of the Spaniard loomed up. I saw running men at the rail. The Dons had spotted us, and they were fast to catch on that we werenât friends. Her two stern chasers opened up on us, but their shot went a hundred yards wide. Her best gunners must have been concentrating on her victims.
âA shame, I calls it,â muttered Mr. Jeffers. âBest guns in the world and couldnât hit the broad side of Jamaica if they was anchored in Port Royal Harbor.â
Then we were slipping by her and I could make out her name in huge gold letters across her stern: CONCEPCIÃN. I stared up great black wooden walls, my eyes wide. The
Concepción
towered at least ten to fifteen feet above us, like a castle on a rock.
âFire as they bear!â ordered Mr. Hunter.
âNowâs butcherâs work, lad,â Mr. Jeffers said with a grin, his slow-burning match steady over his gunâs touchhole. âUp a mite. A mite more. Hold!â The gun crew had raised the barrel by wedging in quoins. They leaped away. I hunched behind the railing and stuffed my fingers in my ears. Then everything happened at once.
Mr. Jeffers whipped down his match and arched his body. His gun roared, recoiling with a devilâs hammer blow that would have crushed any sailor behind it. As the smoke cleared, I saw the
Concepciónâ
s gunports fly open, exposing row upon row of gigantic twenty-four-pounders. The world erupted into ear-shattering sound and disappeared into a sulfuric cloud of gun smoke. The
Aurora
shuddered as the twenty-four-pound cannonballs screamed overhead and some slammed into us. I heard men screaming and cursing and stared in horror at the six-inch wooden splinter that quivered in the railing next to my head.
âAgain, lads, again!â Hunterâs bellow sounded far off and tiny after the gunfire. âHit her again, before she can recover and hole us like cheese!â
Jeffersâs crew had wormed and sponged thecannon. Now they shoved in a cartridge of powder and a ball. Jeffers was already sighting. In shock I noticed that one of his ears was torn to a rag, blood streaming down his neck. I donât think he was even aware of it. âSteady! Steady!â he bawled, then with clenched teeth he rammed the slow-burning match fuse to the touchhole.
Then the
Auroraâ
s cannons boomed again, and half-deafened though I was, I heard a crack like the gates of heaven falling. Through the billowing smoke I saw the Spaniardâs mizzenmast go crashing down off to starboard. A wild cheer erupted from our crew, and Mr. Jeffers grinned through the blood on his face. âTheyâre better armed, but weâre better aimed, eh, lad?â
âAye,â I said, having read his lips to get his meaning. My head still rang with the crash of cannons. Now smoke was coming from the big Spaniardâs deck, where the fallen sails had taken fire from their own cannon. I had a glimpse of the Spanish crew feverishly trying to prepare their guns for another round, but it was clear they were much slower than our own crews. They would not have time.
Then we cut right in front of the
Concepciónâ
s towering bluff bow, decorated with the figurehead of a woman with flowing blue
In less time than it takes to tell, we were bearing down on the conflict. The Spaniard was between the burning sloop and her final enemy, off her starboard bow and maneuvering desperately to avoid the big shipâs deadly broadside fire. We were coming up on the Spaniardâs larboard stern, and so far she gave no sign of having spotted us.
âAim for her masts and sheets, lads,â Hunter shouted. âWe donât have time to hammer her hull, and if we did, it would make no odds. I think she might just slap our faces for us. Cut her masts down! Once weâre past her, we donât want her catching us! Hit her fast, hit her hard, and then run like the devil!â
We bore down on them, and the stern of the Spaniard loomed up. I saw running men at the rail. The Dons had spotted us, and they were fast to catch on that we werenât friends. Her two stern chasers opened up on us, but their shot went a hundred yards wide. Her best gunners must have been concentrating on her victims.
âA shame, I calls it,â muttered Mr. Jeffers. âBest guns in the world and couldnât hit the broad side of Jamaica if they was anchored in Port Royal Harbor.â
Then we were slipping by her and I could make out her name in huge gold letters across her stern: CONCEPCIÃN. I stared up great black wooden walls, my eyes wide. The
Concepción
towered at least ten to fifteen feet above us, like a castle on a rock.
âFire as they bear!â ordered Mr. Hunter.
âNowâs butcherâs work, lad,â Mr. Jeffers said with a grin, his slow-burning match steady over his gunâs touchhole. âUp a mite. A mite more. Hold!â The gun crew had raised the barrel by wedging in quoins. They leaped away. I hunched behind the railing and stuffed my fingers in my ears. Then everything happened at once.
Mr. Jeffers whipped down his match and arched his body. His gun roared, recoiling with a devilâs hammer blow that would have crushed any sailor behind it. As the smoke cleared, I saw the
Concepciónâ
s gunports fly open, exposing row upon row of gigantic twenty-four-pounders. The world erupted into ear-shattering sound and disappeared into a sulfuric cloud of gun smoke. The
Aurora
shuddered as the twenty-four-pound cannonballs screamed overhead and some slammed into us. I heard men screaming and cursing and stared in horror at the six-inch wooden splinter that quivered in the railing next to my head.
âAgain, lads, again!â Hunterâs bellow sounded far off and tiny after the gunfire. âHit her again, before she can recover and hole us like cheese!â
Jeffersâs crew had wormed and sponged thecannon. Now they shoved in a cartridge of powder and a ball. Jeffers was already sighting. In shock I noticed that one of his ears was torn to a rag, blood streaming down his neck. I donât think he was even aware of it. âSteady! Steady!â he bawled, then with clenched teeth he rammed the slow-burning match fuse to the touchhole.
Then the
Auroraâ
s cannons boomed again, and half-deafened though I was, I heard a crack like the gates of heaven falling. Through the billowing smoke I saw the Spaniardâs mizzenmast go crashing down off to starboard. A wild cheer erupted from our crew, and Mr. Jeffers grinned through the blood on his face. âTheyâre better armed, but weâre better aimed, eh, lad?â
âAye,â I said, having read his lips to get his meaning. My head still rang with the crash of cannons. Now smoke was coming from the big Spaniardâs deck, where the fallen sails had taken fire from their own cannon. I had a glimpse of the Spanish crew feverishly trying to prepare their guns for another round, but it was clear they were much slower than our own crews. They would not have time.
Then we cut right in front of the
Concepciónâ
s towering bluff bow, decorated with the figurehead of a woman with flowing blue